The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth
by Manchester
Summary: At least not for those in the Cleveland house busting their butts making sure that everything goes fine for Xander and Dawn on their big night. Another story set in phouka's 'Haven and Home' world, used with the permission of that author.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: All characters and settings created by phouka are the property of that author. After writing the following story, I sent it to phouka for her comments. Her reply pointed out that in two specific parts of this story, I inadvertently wrote those sections in such a way as to present something she hadn't intended for her own creation of "Haven and Home." She graciously allowed me the option of re-writing the story, or presenting it with the following disclaimer: "….that you are taking the characters in a new direction that doesn't necessarily jive with the original author's intent." I decided to go with the latter in this case.

Many thanks to phouka for the use of her characters.

* * *

Three days before D-Day:

"Lea Harra ala."

As the dryad slightly released her grip on the throat of the demon, that creature lying flat on his back managed to croak out a more comprehensible statement. He raspingly sent the words upwards into the menacing stare of the small woods-nymph standing on his chest, with her tiny feet resting on the fiend's collarbones while she was bent nearly double, almost nose-to-nose with Lord D'Hoffryn, as the dryad maintained her implacable clutch around his neck, her dainty hands buried deep in the demon's flesh.

"Leave Harris alone. Yes, yes, you've made your point crystal clear!" glowered the master of the vengeance demons at the dryad, who only narrowed her eyes at his disrespectful tone, which changed into nearly an actual whine, as D'Hoffryn continued. "It still isn't that easy! If I show any kind of favoritism or mercy towards that human, considering his past history with us, I'm going to have my authority questioned, with the possibility of my position being undermined, which is not at all agreeable to-- GUK!"

For the next several seconds, the dryad coolly watched how D'Hoffryn's rough features turned a darker purple, as his eyes bulged, and his eye-ridges frantically waggled in a plea for oxygen, with only that part of his body daring to move, since any attempt to grab or otherwise dislodge the little being choking him risked his larynx being crushed in the subsequent moment.

Finally, with impeccable timing, the dryad once more relaxed her grip just before the demon lord would have passed out. Patiently waiting as D'Hoffryn gasped for breath, the forest creature sent another direct stare into the fiend's face, clearly sending a message that she thought it was time for him to talk again, only much more politely and saying what she wanted to hear. Or else.

As his mind cleared, D'Hoffryn frantically tried to think of some acceptable compromise that would conclusively end this whole humiliating episode, with him retaining a little dignity. Plus also his neck vertebrae remaining intact. Furiously concentrating, the demon lord eventually came up with something, to be warily spoken into the dryad's stern features.

"How….how about this? I'll proclaim that due to the recent events at the Cleveland Hellmouth, including those new Slayers, your re-awakening, and the appearance of that blasted vengeance competitor, that area and its population are now too dangerous to be meddled with, and I'll declare the entire city off-limits -- UHK! -- and a ten-mile zone around -- Urg! -- fifty? -- yeesh! -- one hundred miles! -- aahhhh…."

At those last words, the satisfied dryad now completely released her stranglehold of D'Hoffryn, straightening up, to continue standing on top of the demon's chest, as she calmly folded her arms across her chest and expectantly eyed the recovering fiend. Eventually, her prisoner said the reluctant words that would seal their compact.

"By my powers, which I shall lose forevermore should I break this vow, all I have said shall come to pass! So mote it be!"

A flash of pure white light shone throughout the entire office of the demon lord's workplace, with this illumination also outlining for an instant the two magical beings in this room. When the light faded, D'Hoffryn glared upwards into the thrilled dryad's sparkling eyes, and lost control of himself enough to grumble, "All right, it's done! Now, please get off me and go away, before somebody walks in here and sees me like this!"

The only reaction to this by the dryad was an upraised eyebrow of mild rebuke, which made D'Hoffryn himself roll his eyes in exasperation, to impatiently snap, "Yes, I wasn't expecting at all to have you miss that loophole! Look, there's nothing to stop you from warning Harris he'll have to take his chances with us away from Cleveland! You know quite well I'm a vengeance demon, and I -- we -- don't let people who make wishes get off scot-free!" At the end of that rant, a suddenly-worried D'Hoffryn promptly shut up and stared at the dryad, wondering if he'd gone too far.

Instead, the little tree-fairy simply shrugged her slim shoulders, and with an impish grin on her face, she abruptly bent down, her right hand darting towards D'Hoffryn's face, to grab the tip of his nose, and she tweaked that nasal organ once, hard. In the next instant, the dryad vanished into thin air.

For a good long while after that, there was absolute silence in the office, until a contemplative voice finally spoke, "I never thought I could hate Alexander LaVelle Harris even more than I previously did, but that cursed human has managed to change that, yet again."

Groaning, D'Hoffryn staggered up to his feet, to stand there for a few moments rubbing his neck and wincing, until he lurched over to his desk and pushing away his chair, the demon fell into that seat, slumping back in exhaustion. Some moments later, a taloned hand reached out to pull open a desk drawer, descending into that part of the furniture to lift out a dusty bottle that was now plunked onto the top of the desk. Ignoring the glass remaining in the open drawer, the demon sank a fingertip claw into the bottle's cork that had aged dark black, yanking this stopper out of the bottle with an expert jerk of his finger, and lifted up the century-old bottle of 140-proof rum to his mouth, taking a good, long pull of the fiery liquid.

After his shuddering stopped, D'Hoffryn just glowered off into the distance for a few minutes, interrupting his sulking only with more slugs directly from the bottle. Eventually, after he'd lowered the level of the booze halfway down, with his gaze becoming a little unfocused, a puzzled frown slowly appeared on his features. Now that he'd actually had a chance to think it over without the Lady of the Green squeezing him by his gullet in homicidal intent, there had been an odd undercurrent during that event of….impatient concern, as if she'd been rushing through the whole thing. The dryad had acted if there had been some sort of time limit.

Blearily gazing at the bottle resting on top of his desk, D'Hoffryn drunkenly muttered to it as if it were actually listening, "Now, why'd she need to do everything she did here in the first place? It wasn't like I was actually targeting Harris, though if he'd ever gotten in my sights, I'd have been more than happy to wreck his life…." As he thought that over, the demon's sobriety level rose a bit, causing him to wonder, "Maybe something changed? It must have happened recently, but what, exactly?"

Leaning back in his chair, D'Hoffryn started thinking more clearly, with growing regret over his recent vow. Because of that, he couldn't ever try to find out through direct investigation of Harris or his friends and family at Cleveland, by himself or any of his demonic workforce. Indirect means might work, but they were sure to be time-consuming, with room for error.

D'Hoffryn abruptly sat up in his chair, as an inspiration struck him. There was a potential loophole in his oath, in that he could use his magic to find out just what had been going on with the dryad in a most specific place. To be exact, here, in his office. If he could simply sense there had been something bothering her just a few minutes ago, perhaps if he used his magic to further delve into this, there was the chance that during her previous presence here she'd been thinking of exactly what concerned her. His magic was more than capable of revealing this.

Snickering evilly to himself, the demon lord swept his clawed hands in several mystic gestures, and with a last wave of his hands, D'Hoffryn summoned to his mind the cause of the dryad's anxiety.

The demon's mouth fell open. Slowly, D'Hoffryn lifted his gaze to stare upwards in absolute disbelief at the ceiling, to then scream with all the power of his lungs.

"A DATE??!! SHE DID ALL THAT TO ME JUST TO MAKE SURE I WOULDN'T INTERRUPT XANDER HARRIS' ROMANTIC EVENING THIS WEEKEND?"

Dazedly letting his head drop after this vocal eruption, D'Hoffryn then had his gaze then fall upon the bottle of rum waiting for him. Instantly, the fiend surged forward in his seat, to seize the bottle and shove the entire neck of this container deep into his mouth, as the master of the vengeance demons chugged in a single gulp a full two pints of brain-destroying booze, in the despairing hope that this would cause him to utterly forget the whole preposterous events of the past hour.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days before D-Day:

Just after midnight, a twenty-year-old woman stumbled out of the motel room, slamming the door behind herself, as inside that room a creature from the darkest depths of the cosmos dissolved into slime after being decapitated. Violet the Slayer took a few deep breaths of the slightly less-polluted Cleveland air, and as she disgustedly regarded her ichor-stained sword she held in her right hand, the warrior woman bent down to the ground, picking up a discarded McDonald's Big Mac wrapper and then absently using this piece of litter to clean off her sword.

Abruptly cocking her head as her heightened senses heard footsteps coming nearer, Violet quickly hid her cleaned sword inside her jacket sheath. The Slayer was innocently leaning against the motel wall when a couple came around the corner, with this man and the woman giving her casual glances as these tourists passed by the Sunnydale survivor. Once the unknowing pair had gone into their own room next to where a monster had once lurked, Violet headed down the rest of the motel, using her Slayer senses to check for vampires, demons, and other unnatural creatures.

Finally, Violet had finished inspecting her side of the building, and she walked around to the other side, where Rona should have completed her own examination of that half of the motel she'd been assigned. On the way, Violet dug into her jeans pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper, glancing at it to confirm they were nearly done with their patrols of the places having short-term lodging for traveling motorists in this part of Cleveland.

Shaking her head, Violet grumbled to herself that this was all Faith's fault. Nobody else really thought that Xander and Dawn's first date would end up with them actually deciding to shack up together, but that older Slayer had pointed out this possibility couldn't be completely dismissed. Though, she'd expressed her opinion in much more cruder language and gestures.

Anyway, during tonight, the Cleveland House Slayers were now making a sweep through all motels, hotels, and other lodging places of the city within a fifteen-minute driving radius of that pairs' rendezvous. Just in case. In any event, it was cleaning out nicely various monsters who'd been using the anonymity of their lodgings to secretly feed upon humans, so it deserved to be done nonetheless.

It still didn't make Violet any happier to know that she and Rona had to next visit a place actually called the Dew Drop Inn. Irritably shoving her list back into her pocket as she reached the other side of the motel, a grumpy Violet glanced along the line of rooms, expecting to see her sister Slayer waiting outside for her. There was no sign of Rona.

Suddenly feeling a little bit concerned, Violet began to stalk down the passageway, touching her sword hidden inside her jacket. Looking ahead, the Slayer saw one of the motel rooms with its door partly open, and coming from inside, unearthly rumbles and moans were heard by the alarmed woman.

Drawing her sword from its sheath with blinding speed, Violet dashed toward the room where her friend was clearly in some kind of extraordinary trouble, and as she reached the partly-open door, a quick punch by her free hand tore off the door by its hinges, allowing Violet to stand in the doorway, quiveringly ready to Slay whatever lurked there before it could devour Rona and other humans.

An uncomprehending Violet now froze in place, utterly unable to believe her eyes. Her friend, that she'd thought was in danger, was instead lying on her back on top of the bed in that motel room, giggling in absolute delight, as Rona's body shook and shuddered in response to that piece of sleeping furniture energetically vibrating in place.

Dazedly lowering her sword, Violet watched in disbelief a few more seconds, until she finally erupted, shouting, "Are you outta your mind?! What the hell are you doing?!"

A smirking Rona just waved gaily at Violet glaring at her, with the Slayer on the bed guffawing, "Hey, cool down, Vi! Do you know how rare these things are? There just aren't all that many magic fingers vibrating beds left, so I really had to try it out! The quarter I put in is going to run out soon, anyway."

Violet's fingers tightened on her sword, as she sent her dirtiest look at where an unfazed Rona was rolling around on the shivering bed. With a supreme effort, the Slayer in the doorway quashed her temper that was loudly suggesting in her mind the course of dragging Rona off that bed by the scruff of her neck, and then kicking that disgusting piece of junk into splinters. With a growl, Violet sheathed her sword and then whirled around to stomp outside, to stand there in front of the motel room, clenching her fists as she glared off into the distance.

Violet was fed up to her back teeth with everything, and what had happened behind her was the very last straw. She could feel her temper struggling to burst free, and as it massively grew, she was actually tempted to let it all rip. She wanted to scream loud enough to wake the whole world, to give anybody within reach a really good pounding, to….to….

Despite herself, a corner of Violet's mouth twitched. And then it happened again, much harder, as her rage began to dissipate, in recognizance of the whole sheer ridiculousness of the entire situation. Deep inside her, a young woman who'd had to grow up much too fast felt a bit of her mental armor crumble away, as life itself managed to remind someone that despite all the darkness in the world, there were still things to have a good, uproarious laugh at and about during all her days of existence.

Several moments later, a more somber Rona looked up from where the bed had stopped vibrating, to see her friend now standing at the foot of the bed. Startled, Rona watched a deadpan Violet dig into her jeans pocket, and come out with something clenched in her right hand. Right after, a quarter was tossed through the air in a glittering arc towards Rona, who instinctively caught to, to gape at where Violet was bouncing on her toes and intoning, "Coin me, girl."

A wide grin promptly appearing on her face, Rona gleefully rolled off the bed to where the starter was at the side, slipping the quarter into this mechanism, as Violet now held open her arms horizontally, as that Slayer gracefully leapt up to hover for an instant above the beginning-to-vibrate bed, coming down onto this in a classic swan dive…


	3. Chapter 3

D-Day, fifteen minutes and counting:

The general with the fate of nations resting upon his shoulders paced back and forth in the War Room. From under his crushed officer's visor cap thickly encrusted with the embroidered "scrambled eggs", a man with a grim mien peered through his aviator sunglasses at his loyal staff awaiting his every word (actually, one of them was just drinking a cup of coffee at this moment, and the other was peeking over her computer monitor at that other woman). Going back to his meditative gait, his numerous medals clinking during every step, the military man with a reputation of being always victorious in battle now stopped short in his khaki jodhpurs in front of the electronic screen mounted on the far wall, and bestowed a chilly glance upon the information provided in flashing overlays on this screen. Grudgingly satisfied that his forces were in position and ready to move, the soldier then absently gave himself a good whack on his right leg with his riding crop.

Maybe he shouldn't have hit himself so hard, thought Andrew Wells, as that young man choked down an agonized whimper, and blinked away tears behind his sunglasses. Rallying from this, Andrew spun around and swayed, almost losing his balance in his cavalry boots with the jingle-jangle spurs, until he managed to catch himself, and barked out in his most serious tone, "Rprr, rrff bllff, immgrrsshh!"

In her World War I aviator's helmet with the goggles pushed up, Willow Rosenberg leaned to the left past her computer monitor to examine with total befuddlement the over-dressed lunatic who'd talked all of them into wearing military costumes for tonight. Tossing the ends of her white silk scarf over the shoulder of her leather flying jacket, Willow plaintively asked, "What'd you say, Andrew?"

Shooting a glare towards this insubordinate aide, Andrew switched his riding crop to his left hand, and with his now-free other hand, he yanked from his mouth the unlit corncob pipe he'd been clenching in his teeth, to try again. "I said, report, Red Baroness, immediately!"

Lifting her eyes to the heavens in total exasperation, Willow then glanced at her computer screen, and tapped several keys, all while admitting to herself that it had turned out to be more fun than she'd expected to once more put on her hacker hobnailed boots and go stomping through the hedges of peoples' privacies. Plus, it had turned out that she'd actually come across something using her computer skills that her magical powers had totally missed. Which was all to the good, since absolutely nothing was going to interfere with the date tonight of her yellow-crayon friend and her bratty younger sister. NOTHING.

Her eyes gleaming in battle, as if she were diving out of the sun in her Fokker triplane, guns blazing, the Red Witch looked up from her computer and the real-time frequencies she'd just hacked into, and hissed, "They're still carrying out their sting."

"Excelllllllent," intoned Andrew, sounding more like Montgomery Burns instead of Douglas MacArthur. Getting back into the proper character (though it's true they bore each other a rather close resemblance), Andrew then shouted, "LACKEY!"

From where she'd been standing two steps away, Christine Keaton dryly asked, "You bellowed, Herr Generalissimo?" while the new Slayer that had recently joined the Cleveland House now mockingly lifted up her right hand to give a purpling Andrew the Girl Scout salute. At the same time, the left side of the beautiful Slayer's face that was directed towards Willow bestowed upon that blushing redhead a very bawdy wink.

The witch felt her insides tingle with feelings she hadn't had since Kennedy's death, delighted emotions that had only grown ever since Christine's arrival, with that young woman confidently wearing everywhere her rainbow-pride looped ribbon pin, her total willingness to join in the entire hilarious madness happening tonight, and the fact that the Slayer looked absolutely scrumptious in her white sailor outfit, down to the black tie and the soft circular cloth cap that was perkily tilted down on her forehead.

Feeling that he was somehow not being taken seriously, Andrew drew himself up and ordered in what he fondly believed to be a truly masculine rumble that instead sounded like Alvin the Chipmunk on helium, "Inform our faithful retainers that….Operation Jones is a go."

"Jawohl, mein Kommandant." Still deadpan, Christine performed a second salute, this time the Hawaiian 'hang loose' hand waggle, and again sent another lewd wink towards Willow that made the backs of that witch's knees turn moist. As the Slayer turned around to walk to where her cell phone was on her desk, her hips swaying, as she hummed a jaunty tune under her breath, a rapturous Willow was supremely certain that the soft swishing of that warrior woman's lower half of her bell-bottom pants brushing against each other during her strutting stride was positively the yummiest sound in the whole world.

As a woman whose face was now as red as her hair looked back at her computer screen to keep an eye on how things were going, without thinking about it, Willow began gently bouncing in her chair in time with the words in her mind that had matched what the sexy Slayer had just been humming.

*It's fun to stay at the YMCA….*


	4. Chapter 4

D-Day, twenty minutes and counting:

*What am I, Cupid?*

As he hopped out of the flowerbed onto the grass strip by this landscaping, becoming immobile as he warily examined his surroundings, Baxter the rabbit sent a twinkly-nosed glower to the world at large, and continued his inner grousing.

*It should be easy enough to tell us apart, since I look nothing like that diaper-wearing, bald idiot in his tiny fluttering wings, that sickingly-sweet toy bow, and that quiver filled with arrow shafts having heart-shaped arrowheads. I don't do romance. No, sir, I AM VENGEANCE! Bloody, tooth-and-claw retribution and punishment against those miscreants who dare to harm the innocent. Damn straight, buster.*

The white bunny now took a quick break from his complaining to munch on a particularly succulent clump of grass, with his long, fuzzy ears then slumping in dejection on exactly how he'd gotten himself into this specific situation.

*I never knew how dangerous a teenage girl's quivering lower lip could be. Bah. Let's just get this over with and then scram. Lucy promised me a whole head of lettuce when we get back to the house.*

Rising his cute head, Baxter eyed his prey before him, noting with glee how that quarry remained totally oblivious of its coming fate. Wiggling his powder-puff tail as his hind legs dug deep into the ground in preparation for a majestic leap at his victim, Baxter allowed his eyes to turn deep red, and in his mouth, his teeth changed from dull molars into razor-sharp fangs.

Abruptly pushing down his rear limbs, Baxter now sprang in a soaring arc towards the doomed target, every incisor showing in a savage snarl, as in his mind the little bunny bellowed his war cry: *DIE, SCUM!*

Landing on the asphalt-coated ground next to the BMW Z Series roadster parked in the driveway, Baxter lunged right at the rear left tire of the luxury car, sinking his fangs deep into the rubber.

An instant later, this tire exploded in a thunderous BANG!

Several hundred feet away in the FBI surveillance van, chaos reigned. Just a few seconds ago, the three agents carrying out their part in the sting operation of a certain Cleveland politician had been preparing to follow this man on his way to an expensive restaurant, where they'd continue listening in while an undercover agent negotiated the price for that politician to be bribed.

For the head of the team in the van, it had just been another day of work in a twenty-year career in that crime-fighting organization. Special Agent Mark Harrison was basically in the van tonight just to keep an jaundiced eye upon everyone. Well, not on Agent Rob McDonnell; he was an experienced electronics tech actually operating the bugs and cameras the same as he'd done for the last decade.

No, who really needed to be watched was Agent Chuck Johnson, two weeks out of Quantico on his first operation, an eager young man who was trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent. Not to mention needing to be smacked on his damp nose every fifteen minutes with a rolled-up newspaper. Five seconds after introducing himself to Special Agent Harrison, Agent Johnson had been firmly ordered by his superior to confine himself to making coffee, gassing the van, and watching how the adults did it.

Right now in the van, an adult was frantically calling on the radio for backup with the magic words of 'shots fired', as another adult was moaning with pain while rubbing his ears, as the sensitive earphones that he'd been using to listen to every sound in the area dangled around his neck. Since he had no direct orders to do anything else, Agent Johnson just watched through the television screen where he keenly noted in the driveway that the expensive car there was tilted to one side, as if there was something wrong with the tires.

Back at the house, where a porch light had just turned on, Baxter the rabbit was recovering from where he'd been blasted several yards away by the exploding tire, landing onto his back, fluffy paws being dangled by the upside-down rabbit and a somewhat vague expression on that little mammal's face. This dazed look slowly changed to a very weird grin, as Baxter gleefully noted to himself, *That was kind of….fun.*

Twisting his body over to regain his normal posture, Baxter then happily hopped back to the rear of the BMW, this time to the right wheel, where he once more sank his jagged incisors into a very expensive, imported all the way from Germany, tire. A second later, another BANG! echoed throughout the grounds.

In the van, Agent Johnson slowly leaned forward until his nose was nearly touching the television screen.

On the porch of his house, a politician stared in disbelief at his driveway, where his luxurious car was now slumping down on its rear wheels. A moment later, that man jumped straight up in the air at least a couple of feet, as another deafening BANG! rang out, with both the man and his car descending at the same time. Right after that, the politician dashed back into his house, a look of terror on his face, as he slammed the front door shut, in perfect synchrony with the fourth and final BANG! coming from the car, which shuddered, and sank downwards into total immobility.

In the van, Special Agent Harrison was screaming into the radio for more men, preferably armed, while being informed at the same time that the police had just been called to their location. In the middle of all this sudden clusterfuck, a voice that Harrison truly did not want to hear now managed to get his attention.

Agent Johnson, sitting at attention in his chair in the van and with a proud look on his face, reported to his superior, "Sir, I was able to witness that malefactor at their work, and I believe I can unquestionably identify it, sir."

"It?" blurted out Special Agent Harrison, who to his everlasting chagrin in the future, never noticed that his radio was still on and everybody was listening to what was next said.

With absolute zeal in his tone, ready to heel, fetch, or roll over, Agent Johnson now achieved true immortality in the FBI by going on. "Yessir! It was a small white rabbit, and I think it was giggling when it hopped off, sir."


	5. Chapter 5

D-Day, one hour, thirty-six minutes and counting:

As the front door of the restaurant closed, Faith nodded with satisfaction, knowing that her job was done and the two people who'd just left would now be guarded by their following unseen protectors. Giving one last glance through the one-way mirror overlooking the main room of the restaurant, the Slayer smirked, and posed in the dim reflection of that observation device.

*Damn, I look kinda good in white.*

She'd been somewhat taken aback a few hours ago when the white hat and chef's coat had been tentatively handed to her, with the other local Slayer, Donna somebody, then sheepishly telling the Head of the Los Angeles Slayers House that the restaurant had agreed to allow a bodyguard to keep watch on two of their diners, but that expensive eating place had firm rules in that this guardian had to dress in formal restaurant attire in order to blend in.

Ordinarily, Faith would have taken great pleasure in telling someone where to shove these rules and their clothing where they couldn't be removed without recourse to special surgical tools, but she'd been in a rather subdued mood for her the last couple of hours. Particularly after she and Robin Wood had visited the dryad's glade.

The reflection of the woman in white now had its eyes soften, as Faith remembered how truly peaceful it'd been there. And how for once, she'd felt at home, both at that place and with the little woods-nymph, who'd immediately plopped herself in the Slayer's lap as Faith had been seated on the ground, with the dryad looking up into the woman's startled face, and giving Faith the most compassionate gaze she'd ever had bestowed upon her.

Parts of her soul, which she'd never revealed to anyone, not even Robin, had finally been soothed by the dryad's gentle nature during Faith's visit. She'd been in pain so long that when her hurts had been healed at last, she'd spent minutes sobbing in Robin's arms, with the tiny hands of the forest-fairy wiping away her tears.

Faith sighed, regretting the fact that she'd finally had to leave the glade, but also happy in knowing that as soon as the whole thing was over, about having to sneak behind the backs of those guys going on their first date, that she and Robin would return, and then they'd finally be able to see their reported avatars. The Slayer chuckled, thinking to herself, *Never dreamed in a million years that me and Wood woulda been otters, those cute little bastards playin' in the water.*

Smiling into her mirror-image grinning back, Faith was further buoyed by how much Xander and Dawn had enjoyed their meal, and each other's company. *Boytoy deserves someone at last, and I just hope he don't fuck it up. Still, little D's got enough smarts for both of 'em, and she's got the gumption to put the smackdown on anybody gettin' in their way. An' that includes Her Blondness."

An evil grin now appeared on Faith's face, as she snickered at the last mental comment. Lifting her left hand to glance at her watch, the Slayer noted that it was time for her to leave now, heading to the airport where she and Robin would take a private flight back to LA and their own home and jobs. Turning around to exit the small room where she'd been keeping watch, Faith stopped before the door, a thoughtful look now on her features.

The Slayer brought up her right hand to pluck off her white hat, which she'd been informed was a 'toque' or whatever the hell that was, to fold it until it was small enough to fit into the pockets of her chef's coat, which she then shrugged off to reveal her normal leather clothing underneath. Further folding the coat, Faith savored the small scrap of revenge she was going to perform for having to wear that outfit in the first place.

*They said I hadda wear it. Didn't say I hadda give it back.*

As Faith left the room, carrying her stolen burden, she contemplated with evident relish the next few nights back home for her and Robin, where in their bedroom, she was going to wear that chef's outfit while slathering over her lover's bare skin various sauces and garnishes, all while proving to Robin Wood that the way to a man's heart was truly through his stomach, and also in Faith's firm opinion, the various organs lower down on a man's body.


	6. Chapter 6

D-Day, six hours, fifty-one minutes and counting:

The raccoon with a truly nasty sense of humor ambled out of the underbrush in the middle of the night. Once it stepped onto the crumbling asphalt of the one-lane road leading to the scenic outlook, this bandit-masked animal sat down on its haunches, stretching its head upwards and sniffing the air. Yes, one of those metal boxes had passed here recently. Dropping back down on all four limbs, the raccoon started trotting alongside the road, heading unerringly towards where a car was parked several hundred feet away.

A minute later, this raccoon stopped about thirty yards behind this car, again on its haunches, as an evil gleam appeared in its eyes. Over the last several months, this highly intelligent mammal had learned a sure-fire way to get its clawed hands upon some tasty food. When it came upon one of those metal boxes that occasionally appeared here at this place, there were almost always a pair of those two-legs animals inside, sometimes with their outer skins peeled off and emitting odors of imminent mating.

One thing virtually every human dislikes is having their watching of the nighttime submarine races interrupted, and a thirty-pound raccoon suddenly leaping onto the hood of their parked car, to stroll right at the front windshield and standing up there to lean against the glass, all while beadily eyeing those surprised primates inside about to procreate, will sure as hell spoil the mood.

During the above situation, various options will occur to the humans:

1. Get out and try to shoo that raccoon away. (This particular species has razor-sharp claws, a mouth jam-packed with fangs, and has been known to kill full-grown mastiffs. Plus, there's always the possibility of it being rabid. Still, go ahead. Just be sure to pull up your pants first before you try.)

2. Keep going. (Very difficult, since either or both will certainly be put off by a peeping-tom animal paying them close attention).

3. Sound the horn to scare it away. (Do you really WANT to attract attention, considering what you were going to do?)

4. Turn the engine on and drive around, to dislodge it. (Again, note the claws, and consider what these will do to your paint job. Plus, if you've got a convertible cloth roof, it's entirely possible that it could jump up there and shred its way inside. Then, your troubles will really begin.)

No, in the end, most people will figure out the correct answer:

5. Toss whatever food or snacks you've got out the window, and when it jumps off your car to eat this, haul ass.

About to try its usual blackmail that had worked every two out of three times the last couple of months, the raccoon behind the car smirked and started sauntering towards its next meal. However, something now happened that was truly astonishing to this member of the Procyon genus.

At the very front tip of its black nose, two steel blades blurred into existence, their own points just a fraction of an inch from the startled raccoon that immediately froze, to look up and see two human females, crouching down on their heels, steadily holding their swords ready, with bared teeth and blazing eyes of pure murder. After a moment of indecision, the raccoon slowly backed up, and when it judged its chances to be best, it whirled around and ran like hell.

Watching the raccoon streak away at full-panic speed down the road, Ari and Shannon waited until it was completely out of sight, and they then glanced at each other, satisfied expressions on their faces. Still remaining in a crouch to escape being seen by those in the car behind them, the Slayers then faded back into the underbrush, to take up their positions with all the other warrior women in protecting Xander and Dawn from any and all interruptions.

Even by a really stupid raccoon.


	7. Chapter 7

D-Day, six hours, fifty-eight minutes and counting:

In his car on the scenic outlook, Xander Harris, totally ignorant of all that had happened during the past few days, looked down at Dawn Summers snuggling up at his side, and knew he was the luckiest man on the planet.

Of all the things he had been the most worried about concerning their date was the fact that, going by his entire life, something bad would surely happen during their rendezvous. But….nothing had. On the contrary, tonight they'd had a perfectly wonderful time, with both Xander and Dawn becoming closer than ever before.

Now, after a great meal, fine drinks, and a particularly enjoyable time dancing together, they'd driven here to savor a quiet spring night. After several minutes of watching the lights of Cleveland before them, Dawn had slid over in the car seat, to lean her body against his side. It was clear that the next move was up to him.

Xander looked down at the young woman he'd known since forever, regardless of whatever had really happened, and he made his decision at the exact instance Dawn looked up into his remaining eye. Without thinking about it, the man's head descended, steadily gazing into the woman's face beginning to glow with pure joy.

The lips of Xander Harris and Dawn Summers met at the exact stroke of midnight, and lasted in a truly romantic kiss, as a Key finally found her lock.

(In a War Room, a dot of pure red light blazed onto an electronic screen, as somebody who'd never been happier since he'd taken Inchon, threw up his arms, to whoop, "WE'VE GOT A KISS!" as the two women with him leapt into each other's arms to dance together in delight, until they realized what they were doing, and then began to dance for their own happiness. All while around them, a House trembled with joy.)


	8. Chapter 8

D-Day, seven hours and counting:

Several thousand miles and an equal number of time zones away, Buffy Summers stopped short in leaving her café table in Paris after an early morning breakfast. The anxious Slayer felt the prickling of her skin that back in Sunnydale had been a feeling she had always characterized as "a majorly case of the wiggins."

Worriedly glancing around, Buffy ignored the other male diners at their own tables ducking behind their copies of the Le Monde newspaper to escape being noticed ogling la femme blonde courte avec le derriere exquis. She couldn't find anything in her vicinity that was actually any cause for alarm, so Buffy just shrugged, and walked away from the café. As she headed down the sidewalk, the American woman frowned to herself and noted that according to Andrew, what just happened was probably a tremor in the Force.

Halting in her tracks, Buffy abruptly squeezed her eyes shut in utter exasperation, and then admitted to herself that quoting Andrew Wells truly proved that she'd absolutely needed a vacation, even if it had been sprung upon her totally by surprise. Several days ago, Council responsibilities in London had required Giles to visit that city, and he'd invited Jenny and Buffy to accompany him from Cleveland, since there was the possibility a senior Slayer would be required in some way. As for Jenny, he just wanted her along. So there.

When the trio had finished traveling to London, to their bemusement, they'd found that events had worked themselves out so that their presence wasn't really necessary. Giles had gone off for a few hours on dull Council business anyway, and he'd come back with a satisfied expression on his face that didn't require him to actually tell the two women they could now do whatever they wanted. A devilish look had developed on Jenny's features at that instant, and she'd pulled away Giles to the other side of their hotel room, whispering into his ear.

Both Giles' sudden blush, along with her Slayer hearing that had brought to Buffy the words 'dirty weekend' had led to the young American promptly suggesting she would be just fine going off on her own, until they all headed back to the dryad's house in Cleveland a few days from now. It also didn't hurt that after saying that, a beaming Englishman had passed over to Buffy his Council credit card.

In the French capital, a smirking Buffy patted her pants pocket where that no-limit card rested, and headed off towards Christian Louboutin to do some serious damage. You could have Paris, city of romance, for all she cared. For little ol' Buffy Summers, shoes were the most important thing.

Of course, as long as she was here, she might as well pick up some souvenirs for all the others -- Willow, Xander, Dawn, and the rest at the dryad's house. As she strolled through the streets of Paris, Buffy idly wondered what the guys were doing back home, and she just hoped that they were all managing to stay out of trouble. Humming, a totally unsuspecting Summers sister continued her contented walk.

* * *

Author's Note: Here's the e-mail sent by phouka giving her comments regarding the story. I'll add my own remarks at the end of this.

Hi Manchester!

My goodness, but you've been a very busy writer. Thanks for letting me know you have another story ready to go.

I am now on the horns of a dilemma. I want to encourage you as much as possible, as I'm delighted that you so enjoy the small world I've created. However, a couple of your characterisations are veering away from the ground rules I created for the world.

Specifically, the dryad does not travel. She and her tree exist in a pocket dimension tied to the house. In our world, the house represents the tree/dryad. In her world, she and her tree represent the house. While the house has relocated on occasion - from her original grove in France to Germany to other places and finally to the Hellmouth in Cleveland - it's rare and usually done in a last ditch bid for survival. If the dryad goes anywhere, the tree and the house go with her, as they are all aspects of the same thing.

For her to meet D'Hoffryn, he would have to come to her.

Secondly, Baxter is far more informal than I've ever written him. Baxter is a very proper, dignified sort of rabbit, and this was only reinforced when he became the mortal avatar of Nemesis (divine retribution). He doesn't have an internal monologue. When he's on the job, he's the Terminator - no mercy, no remorse, and he will not stop until you are dead! (*ahem*). When he's not on the job, he's very low key, mellow, and still very formal. Think Cary Grant crossed with Wolverine.

I leave it up to you. If you feel up to it, you could rework those two parts and post with my full blessings. If you don't feel like a rewrite and want to stick with your interpretation, just please add a small disclaimer that you are taking the characters in a new direction that doesn't necessarily jive with the original author's intent.

Other than those two things, the story was delightful, and I loved how it was around Xander and Dawn but really about everyone else. :D

Happy New Year and Good Writing!

Author Again: Actually, I just forgot the dryad couldn't leave her tree/dwelling. When I heard from phouka about this and examined my story to see if it could be changed, I decided that it wouldn't do to have that magical creature inviting or tricking D'Hoffryn into her home, and then assaulting him to get that fiend to leave Xander alone. It seemed kind of…mean. (Even though that demon lord totally deserves it.) On the other hand, the concept of the dryad somehow slipping into D'Hoffryn's office and then pouncing onto him to present her arguments, accompanied with a most determined grip upon his windpipe, still strikes me as very funny. So, I basically left it alone, though I won't do it again if this ever comes up in the future.

As for Baxter, going back and reading about him in phouka's stories, he does have a hint of Cary Grant about him. But then, EVERY male wants to be Cary Grant. Wolverine, if anybody ever dared to ask him and he didn't promptly disembowel them for this, surely would gruffly admit to wanting to be Cary Grant.

Me, I want to be Cary Grant. Alas, this is not going to happen. So, I wrote about a soft, fuzzy bunny that acts like Archie Leach with a chainsaw.


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